I think it was the mistake, and I've made it. Well, if it was over, it was over anyway, and if it hinged on something like that, I guess it wasn't that great anyway. There it comes, the fox telling himself the higher grapes are sour anyway.

The second I clapped my eyes open, I knew it was wrong. Everything. Waking up at that very moment, not fifteen minutes earlier or later. The day that was to come. Having to go to work. Everything. No, it wasn't a case of self-fulfilling prophecy. It was just the first time in years that I felt it that violently AND consciously: This was going to be no good day. I was in a shitty mood from the beginning.

Passing the work day in a rush lifted my mood just slightly, although there were put-downs in the shape of irritatingly awful students going for a walk on my mood and my nerves and me seeing my insufficient ways that are yet to be improved. Being off at eleven didn't really help, as now there was the problem of making a decision. Should I go and see my former colleagues although there was a good chance that there would only be J, and J and I alone would probably be awkward or at least, well, awkward. So, should I? Even though a lot in me screamed no, I heard my wish "But I would like to take the chance that I'll run into him! And I want to feel the rush of being in the same building as he!" There we go, driving towards the school building. First bad signs: no parking space anywhere. Having driven around for quite a while, I head for the parking lot of a grocery store, fully aware of the wrongness, but not caring.

I teeter to the entrance, smile at Peter looking out of the window and catching sight of me, thinking, now I can't turn back anymore, thinking, I wouldn't have anyway. I stall for time at the toilet, seeing that I might look like a weird intruder because I'm back again, two days after the last time, and despite the fact that most colleagues had cancelled.

My first glance goes to the pidgeon holes, where I see an uncollected information sheet. Aha, he hasn't been there for a while. Or maybe he has. How did I get to rely on such whimsy indications? (Ever since nothing has actually happened?) I am alone, without even an excuse for my visit. I walk over to the coffee table, where I have the good fortune of witnessing a work conversation just two minutes after my arrival, which makes me feel part of something, even a little useful as a sympathetic listener. On top, one of the colleagues mentions him in the conversation, which again makes me startle - internally. Now it doesn't. Now it's in a line, on a par with all the teenage- or stalkerlike symptoms of a very confused woman mildly or not so mildly interested in a guy (who is probably just a blinking moment). Care for examples? I walk past parked cars and recognize his number. Startle. I hear J and Habi muse about old and new colleagues, wonder about the knowledge I have and don't want to share: startle. Hear someone unwittingly add a letter to his name: startle. Is this what drives men away?

Anyway, got carried away. My prayers that we might wait long enough for all the teachers to come back is, of course, unanswered, because we head off hurriedly "to make it before all the rush starts". Yeah, cool, of course.

The conversation during lunch is unexpectedly enriched by Habi, who joins us, J and me. From a non-work-related topic she quickly finds her way back to work, and I am reminded, among other things by his silence, that J detests work talk during his lunch break or free time. I'm considerably powerless, though, and can only join in every once in a while. Then again, I'm telling myself only now, I cannot be responsible for a grown-up man. If I can, I can rescue the situation, but ... you get the point. All the while I think or muse or dream subconsciously about O. My mood starts sinking rapidly, even more rapidly, when they start on the pessimistic it-will-only-get-worse-topic. Not that they're wrong - it's just so not what I need to hear on a day like this.

The real letdown comes later, of course absolutely unexpectedly. I talk to F about O in an unprecedented way. I give her what seems like way too many details afterwards, maybe she can't quite follow or keep her mental eyelid open. She says, "If that happens, then you can forget him anyway." I'm blown, and I realize I wanted her to reassure me. Instead she takes all the air out of it. Then she says, "Maybe he wants something different from what you want." Wham! Another one! When I leave, I realize that I feel very alone, very much left alone, very disappointed. I feel unappreciated. I feel not gotten. Then I tell myself it's not her that I am disappointed in. It's the truth in the mirror in front of my face. She doesn't want to hurt me, and she probably knows how not to. So why blame her? She's just given me some advice. Why do I feel the earth shake under my feet, though? Because I had assumed my luck imminent, not just possible. Because I had thought I had found out something about myself, because I could be proud of me in some way at least. Then she smashed that by virtually saying "He's just a vacuum. You're wrong!"

Did I mention I hate seeing myself fall back into this awful dependent state? I'm only barely holding myself back from texting him, from writing that message that says "Hey, how'ya doin'?" but screams, "I want to spend time with you and I'm completely confused as to why you're not calling and could you please tell me it doesn't mean you're just not into me and if it does could you please be into me?" And how desperate is that? Is it legitimate to want to know why he was giving me signals if he doesn't anymore?

This is the first time in weeks that I've had a whole bar of chocolate in one sitting, and I don't feel better for having indulged. I feel worse, because it wasn't the chocolate I would have wanted. F***!

Only seconds from composing that text message. On a Wednesday, though? What are the chances he'll answer midwork, midweek? Or is that an irrelevant question because a) I should stop analyzing and b) it should be "Would he answer at all and what would that answer be worth if it's just an answer and not a call?"

Then again, it's me. And I'm different. How am I to know he's not different, too, if he's meant for me? Then again, I'm putting the weight on him, something I didn't want to do. I wanted to be just the light and pleasing woman - there, it has escaped my mouth - pleasing. When did that add to the bill? I was never into pleasing when it came to him.

Breaking news: I cannot not write. I just know that everything they tell me is just a guideline, but what I feel I need to do is inside me, inside my stomach. It's "remember what was" and "do what you feel is right". Darn! I'm starting to doubt. Why did that postcard pick me the other day and scream "buy me, buy me!"? It says, "Good things will come to those who can wait." Well, I can wait, but I just want a little piece of candy for the way. Is that cheating? Or is it still waiting? Am I ruining every last drop of a chance I have if I write? Shouldn't he know I'm there without me telling him like that?

to be continued